Achilles Heel
by gently-used-fairytale
Summary: "Whatever you love, that is your weakness." Holly Black Maybe Sam is Dean's Achilles heel, but there's a few dozen vampires willing to test that by taking what isn't theirs.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey, I'm baaack! After a whole 3 days (because that's totally a long time now) of inactivity, I'm back with more fics for you guys. I'd like to thank my History teacher for this one, because, after all, listening to someone give a lecture about Achilles for a full hour fuels my Muse with the complete and utter boredom it needs to create another fanfiction.**

 **Anyways, I'm going back to early Season 2 with this one. Hope you enjoy my muse's twisted/fluffy (in later chapters)/painfully geeky creations!**

 **~Salted**

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" _Whatever you love, that is your weakness." ~Holly Black_

* * *

Clearfield, Pennsylvania

Present Day

 _Isn't an hour a bit long to walk to a diner that's just down the street?_ Dean thought, glancing at the ancient analog clock mounted on the far end of the motel room's wall.

At 30 minutes, he'd guessed Sam had taken the longest possible way back to the motel solely to piss him off -probably because he'd blasted Led Zeppelin for 7 hours straight on the drive into Clearfield, Pennsylvania- just being the whiny bitch he was.

But an hour? That seemed like overkill, even for Sam.

Dean snagged his cell from the side table and quickly dialed his brother's number. Someone picked up on the 3rd ring.

"Where the hell have you-"

"Excuse me?" A feminine voice answered from the other end, and Dean glanced at the phone to make sure he'd dialed the right number.

"Who is this?" He asked -anger fading into confusion- he'd be damned if his brother had picked up a date and not come back to bite his nails about it.

"Name's Bexley. And I'm guessing you're the infamous Dean Winchester, hmm?" Alarm bells trilled chaotically in Dean's head, finally realizing that whoever had picked up wasn't there to do any good.

"Where the hell is my brother?" He demanded, holding the phone impossibly closer to his ear, rage and concern boiling in the pit of his stomach.

There was a slight snicker on the other end of the line, "Wouldn't you like to know?" there was a brief, taunting shuffle from the phone's speaker, "Somewhere safe, I assure you. Well, safe _enough_."

"Answer the question, bitch. Where the hell did you take him?" Dean growled, throwing the cheap, flimsy, wooden motel door open, heading for the Impala.

"So that's where little Sammy got his language," Another snicker, "But he kept shouting, and we just couldn't have that, now could we?" Bexley taunted, a barely audible grunt filtering through the phone.

"Don't you touch him!"

"You killed my sister," Dean's mind flipped to the vamps he and Sam had been hunting. They'd ganked one, but couldn't find the nest, "So here's the deal. You two bastards leave the rest of us alone, and we'll give little brother back in.. Mostly one piece." The statement was laced with malice, followed by the unmistakable sound of a knife being unsheathed.

The call cut off as Dean urgently pumped the Impala's gas, ominous dial tone mocking his every move.

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 **So yeah, there's the prologue for you. Later chapters will be much longer, because actual chapters, not prologues.**

 **Please review and/or favorite & follow. You can check out my page for some other fics to hold you over while the next chapter comes out. **

**~Salted**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, okay- it's been too long, I know. I've been busy with school, you know, with Pre-Christmas break tests/exams and all. This chapter was supposed to be a lot longer, but I had this segment done, so I figured I'd go ahead and post it. I'm already 3 pages into chapter 2, so it won't be long until it comes out.**

 **Aaand, side note, it took me 15 minutes to write this Author's note because I'm trying to watch old Supernatural episodes at the same time (*cough* S2E10 'Hunted' *cough*)**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Kripke has the honor.**

 **Mild language, per usual. However, this time there is a bit more profanity, so be aware.**

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" _Not even 15 minutes later,_

 _I'm still walkin' down the street_

 _When I saw the shadow of a man creep out of sight_

 _He swept up from behind, put a gun up to my head_

 _He made it clear he wasn't lookin' for a fight."_

" _Ain't No Rest For The Wicked" ~Cage The Elephant_

* * *

 _Clearfield, Pennsylvania_

 _1 hour earlier_

Clouds hung heavy in the darkening sky, hinting at rain that simply wouldn't come. And for the many pedestrians lining the sidewalks, that wasn't unwelcome.

The setting itself was dismal, with cloudy skies and misty fog gathering at the street's base.

The youngest Winchester weaved through thinning crowds, the traffic playing on his already frayed patience.

Because the sheer thought that _maybe_ if he hadn't gone and fucked up their last hunt, _he_ wouldn't be the one trudging through downtown Clearfield buying food he doubted his stomach could tolerate.

And to top it all off- a drizzle. A damn drizzle. It was Sam's goddamn lucky day.

But things could be worse, right? With his luck, definitely.

So the sound of heeled boots coming to a stop behind him as he paused at a crosswalk probably shouldn't have been a surprise, but then again..

 _And something has to go and get stuck to my shoe._ Sam thought ruefully, deciding that a right turn looked quite appealing at the moment, so long as it didn't mean waiting for a light to change with someone -or some _thing_ \- on his tail.

Quickening his pace only just -primarily so his secret admirer didn't catch on- he headed down the road.

Surprisingly, the before dense buildings seemed to taper off. Much to Sam's slightly panicked dismay, the street ended in a simple, isolated alleyway.  
With a chain link fence lining on end, and his ever-present follower behind him, Sam concluded that he was completely and utterly fucked.

Albeit tentatively, he turned to face the figure behind him.

A small young women stood at the other end of the alley, deep brown hair streaked through with pale blond, clad in ripped jeans and a black t-shirt, a long silver locket hanging from her neck.

"Hey, Sammy," She sneered, rows of long, glittering white incisors protruding from her upper gum.

Red flags went up in all directions. Sam's didn't regularly carry either dead man's blood or a machete on his person, so his best bet was to tuck tail and run.

Even with the vamp's small, 5 foot 4 frame, she was undoubtedly strong. Stronger than Sam was currently fit to handle.

"Hey, Sammy," She called, voice sickly sweet, "Not such a big, bad, Hunter like you say, huh?" Sam took a step backwards, assessing the situation. Maybe she didn't want to kill him, like the ones in Montana- scratch that, anything with teeth that long wasn't vegetarian.

She gave a smug smile, taking a step forward, urging Sam back another step.

Such a process repeated itself for a few moments- almost as if she were attempting to back Sam against the chain link fence along the back of the alley.

Much to Sam's surprise, rather than the semi-pliable wire fence -which he figured he could jump if given enough leeway- his back met something solid.

He let out a muted yelp as a hand came up to cover his mouth & nose, another coming around to pull his arms behind his back in a crushing hold.

Sam was gripped with panic as he a rag being held tightly to his face. A slightly medicinal, cloying, smell emanating from the worn fabric. _Chloroform._

He bucked violently in the hold- gaining little to no freedom of movement before his limbs became heavy.

Darkness pried at the edges of his vision, body going entirely limp.

He felt himself lifted, unnaturally strong arms under his back & knees -the chemical-coated rag tied around his face, as if to ensure full inebriation. Muffled voices filtered sluggishly into his drugged mind as the last of his consciousness slipped out of his grasp.

" _Nice catch, Bex."_

" _Think he'll stay out long enough?"_

" _He should; I damn near soaked that rag in chloroform."_ He felt himself being tossed carelessly into the back of a car- a van, maybe- slamming harshly into the back wall. He gave a small moan around the cloth around his mouth, hearing a soft chuckle in response before a door slammed, locking him in the back of the vehicle.

As he let the last of his awareness fade out, he vaguely registered the car moving, driving away. Given a chance, he would have jumped out of the Godforsaken thing then, but pitch dark shadow sealed off any hint of sensibility.


End file.
